I'am Lord Voldemort The Boy Who Never Smiled
by DracotheFarret
Summary: (Title changed from I'am Lord Voldemort The Boy Who Never Smiled) The life and times of Tom Marvolo Riddle aka Lord Voldemort. This story starts of a year before Tom Riddle goes to Hogwarts till he graduates.
1. The Orphanage

It was an in-between day. The air was chill, and the numerous clouds looked like lumpy porridge in the ice-grey sky. It should have been snowing, but the humidity was low. Tom could almost taste the dryness when he breathed sharply through his mouth, and it was an unpleasant feeling. He pulled his thin jacket tighter around him, shivering from head to toe. His breath hung mistily before him, mingling with the London fog. It was an hour after school on a Friday, and the orphans were all supposed to play outside to get rid of their excess energy.

Tom gazed at the frolicking children with a mixture of jealousy and loathing. Not one of the rosy, happy faces belonged to anyone who had ever been kind to him. Even the girls, looking so innocuous in their frilly dresses and pigtails, even they were worthy of abhorrence. Every one of them had, at one time or another, taken the time to kick Tom in the shins. The boys, however, made the girls look like baby rabbits. Tom knew they despised him, and he detested them right back.

At a glance, Tom Marvolo Riddle did not seem the kind of person who would provoke generic hatred. He was quite tall and spindly, and he had a rather lost, lonely look about him. He looked like he never got enough to eat, which was true. His orphanage uniform was far too short in the arm and leg, but it was also baggy, and it seemed to hang limply from his shoulders. Tom had jet-black hair that clearly needed a good trim, but it was his eyes that drew the attention. They were bright turquoise, almost unnatural in hue, and when framed by his dark eyelashes, they were no less than striking.

Most oddballs at Tom's orphanage were left to their own devices, but Tom was different from the average outcast. Tom knew that he was different, and though his peers were not quite clear on how special he was, the fact that he was odder than odd was enough to drive them. When they grew bored with football, the children would either verbally insult him or physically attack. It was not all harmless, either. Tom had once broken four bones when a boy named Gregory Hamill had shoved him down the stairs for a thrill.

On this freezing March afternoon, Tom was sitting near the bottom of the steps, shuffling his feet and rubbing his hands together in order to keep warm. He had foolishly left his book inside, so he engaged himself in people-watching. Nearly all the faces made him want to strangle the faces' owners, though they all seemed relatively benign at the moment. Rather curiously, he noticed a new face. It was a girl with long golden hair and a huge blue silk ribbon on top of her head. She was not wearing a uniform, but a long fur cape and a velvet dress. Tom felt a pang of rage. He had always hated people who flaunted their wealth.

The girl was standing near the gate, scanning the multitudes of children. She was suddenly joined by two adults, a man and a woman, both with extremely high-class clothes. The threesome exchanged words, then started toward the orphanage entrance. Tom was suddenly aware that the rich girl was not an orphan, she was here with her family on some sort of business. Any respect he had had for the girl prior to this dissolved at that instant.

As the people reached the steps, Tom noticed that the woman had a large diamond on her finger and his anger heightened. "Pardon me, my lad," the father greeted in a pleasant enough voice, "but would you happen to know where Mr. Carney is?"

Tom knew perfectly well where Mr. Rupert Carney, the orphanage headmaster, was located. He was at the pub, probably on his fifth gin by now. However, Tom knew he would be dead if he told this to the strange family. "He went to town some two hours ago," Tom informed them. If he had known how to make his soft, frank voice at all saccharine, he would have done so. "Is there anything you need?"

"We are here to adopt a Muggle," the girl blurted. Her mother quickly shushed her, but the damage had been done. The parents tried to smooth it over.

"I understand completely," Tom replied. "It shouldn't be too hard for you to find a Muggle here, they're all over the place. In fact, I'm the only child in this orphanage who knows what a Muggle is."

The father did a small double take, staring at Tom's face with a most peculiar expression. "Are you Maria Salamair's son?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes," Tom sighed. For an instant, he looked more lost than ever, but he recovered himself quickly. "My name is Tom Riddle. Who are you?"

The man, bowing slightly, introduced himself. "I am Petricus Chubb. This is my wife, Bertha... my daughter, Lucy."

Tom had slightly warmed to the strangers once he realized they were his kind. "Where are my manners? Would you like to come in? You could have a cup of tea while you wait for Mr. Carney." Tom spat out the word "Carney" as though it was a hideous blasphemy.

"We'd love it," Mrs. Chubb smiled. Tom did not smile back, for he was still rather resentful that the Chubbs were so wealthy. He did, however, lead the Chubb family through the orphanage double doors, down the corridor, and into the sitting room beside Rupert Carney's office.

"Hannah might still be in the kitchen," Tom told the guests. "I'll just go ask her to get some tea going, shall I?" The Chubb family, who were seating themselves, nodded.

Hannah Hiddy, the housekeeper, was the only person at the orphanage, child or adult, who was ever kind to Tom. This was not surprising, for she, like Tom and the Chubbs, knew precisely what a Muggle was. Hannah was a wispy young woman with a very pretty face and a cloud of light brown hair. She had started working at the Whitechapel Home for Orphans when Tom was four, and was like an aunt to him. Since she had learned Tom's secret, she had entertained a soft spot for the boy. Tom found her scouring pots.

"Hannah?" he asked tentatively. "There are some people in the sitting room who would like a cup of tea." Hannah looked up. Her face was unusually flushed, and she looked rather ill.

"Whom?" she inquired. Tom definitely noticed that she was breathless. "I really haven't the time, Tom, because with Muggles I can't use any... shortcuts..."

"They aren't Muggles, Hannah, they're like us," Tom responded impatiently. "Use all the magic you want, and I'll get those pots for you."

Hannah took this offer agreeably enough. She removed a wooden wand from the pocket of her apron and prodded the burner of the stove with it. Instantly, it warmed up. Hannah tapped her wand on the cupboard door, and a kettle whooshed out, landed in the sink, and filled itself before zooming across the room to the stove. Meanwhile, Tom scrubbed the pots and pans in the other basin of the sink, already beginning to regret his deal.

"Thank you ever so much for taking care of those, Tom," Hannah beamed as teabags flew across the room behind her back. "Usually I can handle Muggle cleaning, but lately, I've been feeling too dizzy to do some of it."

"Have you seen a doctor?" Tom asked, concerned.

Hannah waved a hand, dismissing the idea. "It's not that bad. Besides, I'm not going to entrust my health to some Muggle quack who doesn't know a magic wand from a chopstick." Tom, however, was not fooled. He had always been able to tell when people were lying to him, and Hannah was lying her head off. It _was_ that bad, and Tom felt strongly inclined to turn Hannah's wand on her and force her to go and see a doctor. However, he finished the dishes in silence.

With the tea finished and the pots cleaned, Hannah and Tom returned to the sitting room, Hannah carrying the tea tray. Tom noticed rather uneasily that Hannah's breathing was very ragged. Mr. Chubb rose to greet them when they entered the chamber. "Why, is this little Hannah Hiddy?" he grinned. "You were in my House, remember?"

"Ravenclaw," Hannah responded, nodding. "Weren't you already a fifth-year by the time I got into Hogwarts, Petricus?"

"Sixth year, I think," Mr. Chubb replied. "I'm sure you've met Bertha. She was a fourth-year Hufflepuff, remember?"

"Yes." Hannah looked more ill than ever.

"We need to catch up, Hannah, we really do. Why don't you sit and have a cup of tea? You're welcome too, of course," he added to Tom, who had remained silent all this time. Hannah gazed longingly at a nearby armchair, but meekly stated that she had more work to do. However, Mr. Chubb insisted, and Hannah, sighing with relief, collapsed into the chair and poured herself a cup of tea.

As Mr. Chubb engaged Hannah in conversation, Lucy Chubb turned to Tom, who took up very little space indeed in his high-backed armchair. "So," she started, "are you going to Hogwarts?"

"Don't be silly, Lucy dear," Mrs. Chubb chortled good-naturedly. "With a witch like Maria Salamair for a mother, the boy is guaranteed to be a wizard!" Her daughter slumped in her chair sulkily. Mrs. Chubb hijacked the conversation. "Are you here visiting Hannah, Tom?" she asked. Tom slowly shook his head, mouthing inaudibly. "Didn't catch that, sorry."

"I live here," Tom murmured, suddenly blinking rapidly. "Mother died two hours after I was born. She only lived long enough to name me."

Mrs. Chubb looked sympathetic. "Always thought she was too small to have children," she tutted. "What about your father?"

"Oh, _that_," Tom sneered, his demeanor changing completely. "He isn't in the picture. No, no, they were married," he threw in hastily, seeing the look of shock on the faces of the two Chubb females. "But he abandoned her before I was born because he found out Mother was a witch." Tom's teacup suddenly exploded, and tea splattered all over the room. Tom sat rigid in his chair, his right hand clenched around the armrest, breathing hard. Hannah cleared away the mess with a wave of her wand.

"Calm down, Tom," she commanded sharply. He relaxed his grip on the armrest, but was clearly not calm at all. He slouched in the corner of the chair, fuming. Lucy giggled, but was silenced by one look from Tom's eyes, which briefly seemed brighter than ever. Hannah handed him another teacup with a reprimanding look.

"Sorry," he mumbled after a while, if only to break the silence. "I got a bit carried away. You were saying, Mrs. Chubb?"

"Oh... er... well, my Lucy is starting at Hogwarts this year. She turns eleven in May, so she qualifies," Mrs. Chubb spluttered, clearly still rather shaken. "Are you going in the autumn, Tom?"

"Yes," he answered, "I had my birthday in December." Tom thought rather resentfully of that birthday. His only presents had been a card from his Muggle (non-magic) schoolteacher and a small, leather-bound diary he had bought for himself on Vauxhall Road and in which he had still not written.

"Really?" Lucy put in eagerly, before her mother could stop her. "Which House are you going for?" Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the most prestigious school of magic in the world, was divided into four Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Gryffindors were brave and daring, Hufflepuffs were sweet and pleasant, Ravenclaws were bookish and clever, and Slytherins were shrewd and ambitious.

One of Tom's deeper secrets, something not even Hannah knew about, was that Tom's mother had been a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, one of the four people who founded Hogwarts. The reason this was a secret was that almost every wizard who turned to the Dark Arts had passed through Slytherin house. Slytherins had a terrible reputation. Only the Salamair family, ironically, consisted entirely of good Slytherins. All the other pureblood, all-Slytherin families had churned out one Dark witch or wizard after another.

"I'm not sure," Tom replied slowly. "I don't think that you can try for a House, they just put you in it depending on your character and strengths. What about you, Lucy?"

Lucy blushed furiously. "Probably Gryffindor," she countered. "It sounds like the best of the lot." Tom's hands automatically balled up into fists. "Ravenclaw would be fine, though, and Hufflepuff would be great, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin! I would leave, or make them change it, wouldn't you? I mean, Slytherins are always really evil--"

"LUCY!" Mrs. Chubb pulled her daughter aside and whispered something into her ear. Lucy's eyes widened, and she glanced up at Tom, whose eyes were gleaming again. "I apologize on behalf of my daughter," she told him, "she was not aware of your family history. Your mother was a good woman. I knew her. Never spoke a word against anyone in her life." She glared at Lucy, who went sulky again.

Tom relaxed and looked around him. Mrs. and Lucy Chubb were having an argument. He quickly grew bored, watching them, so he turned to Hannah. However, she was still speaking to Mr. Chubb about their school days, and their talk was heavy with nostalgia. Tom rolled his eyes. He glanced at the window, and nearly choked on his tea. Strolling up the walk was none other than Rupert Carney. Mr. Carney was weaving slightly, and his clothes were wrinkled. Tom panicked and made for the exit.

"What's the matter, Tom?" Hannah started to say, but she heard Mr. Carney enter and her question was answered. "It's too late, Tom, you'll meet him right outside the door. Here--" she got to her feet, wincing, and threw open a closet "--you can hide in this. I'll get him out of here as soon as possible and give you the all clear." Tom stumbled into the closet, treading on several boxes. Mr. Carney paused outside the door, apparently because of the noises he heard.

"Who's in there?" he hollered. Hannah shut the closet door almost all the way, but left it slightly ajar so that Tom could see out of it. The Chubbs were looking completely bewildered.

"Why are you hiding--"

"Sh!" Hannah commanded. Her eyes darted over to the closet. She looked as terrified as Tom felt. Hannah let Mr. Carney in. "Oh, Mr. Carney, you're back! I've just finished giving the Chubb family their tea... they're here to adopt--"

"I'll handle this," Mr. Carney sneered coldly. "Get back to work." Hannah shot Tom a helpless, fleeting look before she headed back to the kitchens. Tom started to wonder how he had come to be in this situation. Mr. Carney spotted Mr. Chubb's regalia and changed his tone to an oily one. Tom noticed distastefully that Mr. Carney had obviously not washed his colorless hair in a week or two; the grease seemed to be dripping off it.

"You must be the Chubb family?" he greeted, his voice easily as slimy as his hair.

"Yes," Mr. Chubb responded eagerly, standing and shaking Mr. Carney's hand. "I am Petricus Chubb, and this is my family: my wife Bertha and my daughter Lucy. We are interested in adopting a child."

"That can be arranged. What age and gender of child are you looking for?" Mr. Carney looked like a sallow, hook-nosed salesman preparing for a large purchase.

"A boy, probably somewhere around six," Mrs. Chubb replied. "We prefer that he is a gifted child who has just learned to read." Tom stifled a snort. He did not think that a child who learned to read at age six was all that gifted.

"I shall assemble all of the six-year-old males for you, and you can decide which you will adopt." He sounded like he was advertising a sale of puppies. Mrs. Chubb shivered suddenly. "Are you cold?" Mr. Carney asked. ("SUCK UP!" Tom coughed softly into his hands.) "Here, there are some sweaters in the closet." Mr. Carney reached for the doorknob. Tom's stomach seemed to turn over.

"I don't need one," Mrs. Chubb insisted firmly, glancing at the half of Tom's face that she could see.

"If you'll give me a few minutes, I'll be back with the children, and you can speak to each of them separately." Tom sighed with relief as Rupert Carney headed for the door, but just then, a terrible thing happened. The box Tom was standing on collapsed from his weight, and Tom toppled out of the closet with a clatter. Several other boxes came out with him, some of which crunched as glass items inside shattered. Doom seemed to hit him in the face, or perhaps it was the hardwood floor.  
Someone seized the back of his collar and pulled him up. Tom found himself staring into Mr. Carney's livid face. His breath smelled strongly of gin. "What were you doing in there, boy?" he snarled, resuming his usual cold voice.

Tom thought fast, knowing that it would go over horribly if he told Mr. Carney the truth. "Playing hide-and-seek," he lied silkily. Tom had two talents involving mendacity: detecting it and performing it.

"How long have you been in there?"

"About an hour. I suppose nobody thought to come and look for me inside. Boy, when I get back out there, they are going to be so mad that I fooled them!" Tom forced his voice into a syrupy, childish treble.

"Orphans are not allowed in here," Mr. Carney whispered, so that the Chubbs would not hear. "You know that perfectly well. Go to your dormitory, and I'll deal with you later." Mr. Carney twisted Tom's right wrist sharply as he pretended to help Tom up, then shooed him away.

Tom made off as fast as he could for the dormitory. He knew Mr. Carney too well to think that he had half a chance of getting off. As he strode up the stairs, he could practically feel the belt on his back already. Tom shuddered convulsively, half with apprehension and half with insuppressible rage.

He found Hannah cleaning in his dormitory. She looked terribly pale, with her hair all over her face. She brightened when she saw her friend. "Did the Chubbs manage to get you out?" she asked. Tom threw himself onto his bunk, moaning. He explained what happened, and Hannah blanched to an even paler tone.

"Funny, that," Tom stated grimly. "I've looked that scummy Muggle in the face for eleven damned years. I should be used to having the stuffing lashed out of me by now. Nonetheless, sometimes I just want to..." Tom trailed off, turning to Hannah. "Can I borrow your wand?" he joked. "I want to try out the Cruciatus Curse on Rupert Carney."

Hannah's eyes flashed. "That isn't funny," she snapped, her mild temper flaring up for that rare occasion. "The Cruciatus Curse is one of the Three Unforgivable Curses, performing it just once could land you in Azkaban."

"Anywhere but here, Hannah," Tom sighed absently. "Anywhere but here." He reached up toward the top of his bunk and ran one long finger along the canvas. "Will you sit with me awhile, Hannah, before...?"

"Of course." Hannah set down her feather duster and sat on Tom's bed. "What do you want to talk about?"

Tom sighed heavily, still tracing the pattern on the canvas with his fingers. "Could you tell me about my mother, Hannah?"

Hannah took a deep breath, struggling to remember the older schoolgirl she had known. Maria Salamair took many words to explain. Slowly, she went into the description. Hannah started with appearance, dwelling on how Maria so resembled her son. She had had long blue-black hair in silky ringlets, with the same high cheekbones and almond-shaped, turquoise eyes. "She sang like a bluebird, and her laugh... God, you should have heard her laugh. It was like silver bells were ringing all around you," Hannah murmured, her hand still on Tom's forehead. "And such a character! She was nearly always happy, carefree... the only time she was ever sad was when her father Marvolo died, and it was awful to see. Almost like watching an angel cry."

After half an hour, Hannah was once again lost in memories, and Tom had turned away from Hannah, blinking uncontrollably. Both of them were jerked out of their respective states by a bang upon the door. Tom felt the fight-or-flight reflex kicking in already. Rupert Carney hurled the door open, spotted Tom, and curled his lip with dislike.

"Riddle," he growled, spitting it out in precisely the manner that Tom spoke the word "Carney." "You are holding up Miss Hiddy. Miss Hiddy, for the last time, GET BACK TO WORK!" Hannah resumed her dusting promptly, pretending not to eavesdrop.

"As for you, Riddle," Mr. Carney continued, "you are in very serious trouble."

"For playing hide-and-seek in a closet?" Tom asked, once more forcing his voice to be sugary. "I did not know there was anything wrong with--"

"For entering an area that is off-limits to all orphans, particularly you. For breaking several very expensive Christmas ornaments. For listening in on a classified conversation. For being inside during the recreation time. For these reasons, and for the simple fact that I do not like you, Riddle, you are in trouble."

"I wasn't aware your personal preferences had anything to do with justice," Tom retorted, his voice barely a whisper, all false sweetness forgotten. "My, my, Carney, aren't you getting full of yourself, thinking your opinion means so much? Next minute, you'll be signing a treaty with Adolf Hitler and slaughtering all the turquoise-eyed freaks in Europe."

Mr. Carney purpled. "How dare you--idiot boy--piece of filth!" Mr. Carney seized Tom's arm. "You'll pay for that!"

Hannah gave him a what-did-you-say-that-for kind of look, which was laced with pure pity. Tom did not much mind. He would have been punished anyway, the slur meant only a couple more lashes than he would have had in the first place. Mr. Carney dragged Tom down two flights of stairs into the basement, flung him into a small room, and exited briefly. Tom knew this room well. It was called the Wailing Room by the orphans, and all of them had seen the inside of it at least once in their young lives. Tom had been in the Wailing Room more than any other child, and had every inch of wall memorized. It was a desolate room with bars on the only window. The only furnishing was a ratty old twin bed, and there were numerous, unpleasantly bloody-looking stains on the floor, wall, and even the ceiling. Tom sat down on the bed, staring straight ahead of him.

He heard Mr. Carney re-enter the room and draw the shades, but did not turn to look. He concentrated on a particularly splatty stain, trying not to think of how it got there, just observing its color. "Take off your upper things, you know the drill," Mr. Carney barked. Tom removed his jacket and shirt, still staring at the stain. He shivered; the basement was drafty, and his undershirt was doing very little to keep him warm.

Tom heard Mr. Carney raise the belt, and Tom braced himself, still staring straight ahead. The belt made sudden contact, and Tom bit his lip, his shoulders searing. It was quickly followed by another lash, and another, and another... Tom quickly lost count. He tried to focus all his energy on not crying out, or showing any signs of his agony, for that was what Mr. Carney wanted. Restraint, however, was coming harder with every crack.

"THAT--IS--FOR--THE--EMBARRASSMENT--YOU--CAUSED--ME--IN--FRONT--OF--THE--CHUBBS!" Mr. Carney roared. He finally stopped, panting, and looked around at Tom's face. "No tears?" he cried, sounding quite disappointed. "I'll get you to blubber. You've yet to pay for insulting me, boy!"  
The belt impacted again, and Tom let out an involuntary gasp of pain. Not only was Mr. Carney hitting harder than ever, but he was using the end with the buckle. Somehow, Mr. Carney managed to hit exactly the same area every time. After several blows, Tom could not help it. He screamed at the top of his lungs, praying that a neighbor would hear and call the police. Someone at the back of his mind reminded him that Mr. Carney was doing nothing illegal, he was allowed to discipline his charges, but Tom did not care. He shouted as loudly as he could, though this seemed to just encourage Mr. Carney. After what seemed like hours, Mr. Carney relented, and Tom collapsed, whimpering softly into the musty quilt of the old bed.

"Never insult me again," Mr. Carney snarled, rolling up the belt as he rose to leave the Wailing Room. "Never, do you hear me?"

Tom, his face shiny and flushed, glared up at Mr. Carney, a tic going in his right shoulder and his eyes blazing. He hissed something in what was clearly another language, and though Carney did not understand a word of it, he could tell it was an insult. "That's one day you're staying in here, Riddle, and no meals!" he snapped. "Throw in an extra hour for whatever the hell it was you just called me." He stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

Tom heard muffled voices out in the main basement area, accompanied by high-pitched laughter. Three seconds later, Gregory Hamill, Tom's archenemy, poked his head in. "Heard you got the brains knocked out of you, Riddle," he giggled, his attractive face splitting into a wide grin. "A whole day, eh? Don't worry, we're already planning a welcome back party for when you get out of there. Besides, you aren't going to get out of Sunday School, and this week's lesson is going to be _fascinating_."

"Aren't you supposed to be off drinking the blood of mortals, Hamill?" Tom snapped. Gregory only smirked more widely, and he slammed the door. Once he was sure he was alone, Tom reached up and felt his back. His undershirt seemed damp, and was stuck to his skin. Tom winced at the slight pressure of his fingers, so he quickly drew his hand away. His fingertips were smeared with blood. Tom flinched and buried his face in the pillow.

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	2. The Snake and The Owl

At dinner on Saturday, Tom emerged, heavily bandaged, from the Wailing Room, a look of intense agony chiseled into his face. He seemed to have grown even more saturnine during his stay, and even Gregory Hamill was tactful enough to leave him be for the moment. Tom seated himself at the head of one of the tables and ate his meager rations rapidly, wincing once in a while if he moved his arm too quickly.

Tom glared mutinously up at Rupert Carney's private table, where he was eating hearty helpings of fillet mignon and mashed potatoes. "Who the hell does he think he is?" Tom murmured to himself. He had spent the better part of his time in the Wailing Room in anguish, every second cursing the moment that Rupert Carney was born. Tom was suddenly hit by a morbid but eerily satisfying vision of Mr. Carney lying at his feet, writhing in pain, while Tom stood over him with a wand.

At this moment, all four legs of Mr. Carney's chair snapped, and he toppled onto the floor. Tom, his face slightly red, turned back to his stew, keeping his eyes down so that Mr. Carney would not suspect him. A burst of laughter rang through the dining hall, but it was quickly stifled as Mr. Carney, livid with anger, scrambled to his feet, his pale comb-over falling into his monochromatic eyes. He lifted his hand and pointed a stubby finger in Tom's direction. "Riddle!" he shrieked. Mashed potato was stuck to his jaw, and his face had gone from sallow to a deep crimson.

Tom stared silently back, his blood boiling, but his face scarcely showing it. "Yes, sir?" Tom replied innocently. Hannah, standing in the kitchen doorway, had her face buried in her hands.

Mr. Carney looked about ready to defenestrate somebody. "Out with it, Riddle, what did you do?" He was breathing hard through his clenched, crooked teeth, and his nostrils were flared.

"I'm on the other side of the room, sir. How could I possibly have done something to you from over here?" Tom forced himself to keep eye contact.  
Mr. Carney had to accept this, but he kept on giving Tom funny looks as the boy carried his dishes into the kitchen.

Tom may have been imagining it, but Mr. Carney seemed to be in a horrible temper with him over the next four months. Tom did his best to stay out of the way, but harder to avoid were Gregory and his friends. They kept pulling him aside and whispering that they were still working on their plan, never stating what their plan was. Tom was strongly suspicious that this plan of theirs involved some new way to make him miserable.

Meanwhile, Hannah's illness seemed to be getting worse. After a while, she began to use magic with almost every chore, and had trouble standing up for more than five minutes on end. One afternoon in early June, Tom found that she had actually fallen asleep while washing dishes. When Tom tapped her shoulder, she woke up sharply and began scrubbing frantically. It took her a full minute to notice Tom standing there, looking very worried indeed. "See a doctor, Hannah," he commanded.

"I'm not ill, why should I go to the doctor?" Hannah yawned.

"You _are_ ill, Hannah, stop tergiversating!" Tom snapped, folding his arms and glaring at her. "Why won't you admit it?"

Hannah hesitated, staring at Tom intently. "I just made some zucchini bread," she announced loudly. "Do you want a piece? It's lovely warm."  
Tom opened his mouth to answer, but Hannah stuffed a piece of the spicy bread into his mouth and went back to work. Tom gave up on Hannah and stormed out of the kitchen and up to his dormitory, exasperated. Rather irritably, he seized a book from his dresser and dashed down the stairs. As he burst through the orphanage doors, he thought he had walked into the wrong place. Instead of laughing and playing, three-quarters of the orphans were standing in a semicircle, whispering excitedly. Gregory and his closest friends were standing in the very middle.

"What is this?" Tom demanded, his quiet voice icy with suspicion.

"A surprise, Riddle," Gregory sneered, stepping forward. "We've been planning this for months, all for the one event."

Tom made to sneak back up the steps, but the semicircle tightened into a circle, blocking his path. He turned to face Gregory again. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sick of attacking when you're down, Riddle," Gregory snarled, his face forming a demented smile. "Shoving you down the steps... throwing rocks at you... dumping water on you from stair landings... It's all fun, of course, but frankly, if there's no resistance, it gets a little boring." Tom bit his lip and got ready to run. He was not sure what was going to happen, but he knew he was not going to enjoy it. Gregory took another step forward, his round grey eyes twinkling with anticipation.

"What, you've finally decided to leave me alone?" Tom retorted. He tucked the book into the inside pocket of his jacket and folded his arms protectively over his chest.

The maniacal smile had still not left Gregory's mouth. "No, Riddle," he spat. "I'm going to fight you when you have your guard up. I'm going to prove to the world that I'm the bigger man--" (here Tom rolled his eyes, for Gregory was at least a head shorter) "--by fighting you properly. I am going to fight you, and you are going to fight back, and I am going to prove that I can beat Tom Riddle, even when he knows I'm about to do it."

"It took you only four months to come up with that idea?" Tom scoffed. "Quite the brain you are, Gregory."

"That's not it," Gregory insisted defensively. "If I win, these kids get a free-for-all. Same thing happens if I lose, for that matter. Either way, you're going down, Riddle." He was now circling Tom with a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

Once more, Tom hissed a series of quick, furious words in some language other than English, and Gregory stared at him. "What was that you just said, Riddle?" he barked.

Tom broke into a run, but was promptly shoved back into the circle by a burly older boy. "I asked you a question," Gregory roared. "Answer it!"

Tom shook his head and prepared for the first blow, but it never came. Gregory's fist had come within a foot of Tom's stomach before it skidded to a halt. Gregory was staring at the ground. Tom looked down too. A snake about a quarter of the size of a garden hose had slithered from the nearby brush, its back arched, glaring up at Gregory. "You called, Masssster?" the snake greeted Tom, speaking in the same, swift language.

Tom stared at the snake in surprise. "What do you--you can talk to me?"

"What do you think that language is?" the snake replied.

"I don't know. I just thought it was something of my own, even though it always sounded like English in my head. Hannah thinks it's gibberish."

"It'sss Parssssseltongue," the snake informed him, "and you are a Parsssssselmouth. But right now, I have to help you."

Gregory Hamill was backing away from the snake, shaking uncontrollably. "Afraid of snakes, are you?" Tom asked. He turned to the snake. "Go for him, friend."

"Yesss, Masssster," the snake agreed, nodding. With that, he dove for Gregory, snapping at his ankles. Gregory screamed for help, and Tom just stood there, giving the snake instructions. The orphans were in a panic, and the circle had dispersed. Gregory's best friend Bartholomew Werner was making a beeline up the steps, but Tom did not notice.

"His arm's near the ground, go up his sleeve!" he shouted at the snake. "That's it, now bite his ear! Are you poisonous? No? Damn. Oh well, bite him anyway!" Gregory shrieked with terror and pain, trying to shake the snake off. Tom kept staring at Gregory, seething. This was his chance to get back at Gregory for everything. The snake came out of his collar and twirled around his arm several times, nipping his fingers playfully. "That will do, my friend," Tom cried in Parseltongue. "Return to me. He has learned his lesson." The snake fell to the grass and crossed over to Tom, who picked it up and put it on his shoulder. It looped itself around his neck and continued to look daggers at Gregory.

Bartholomew reappeared at Gregory's side, staring at Tom and the snake. "I had better go," the snake whispered. "That new boy has notified your guardian. If you ever need assssisssstance, little Masssster, be sure to call for it. Any of ussss sssnakesss would be willing to help you." The snake slid down Tom's arm and disappeared into the bushes.

"Thank you!" Tom called after it.

At that instant, Mr. Carney emerged from the orphanage and hurried down the steps to where Gregory was standing. "What happened?" Mr. Carney asked, looking as though he already did not believe the story.

"Mr. Carney," Gregory gasped, his breath coming in short, deep bursts. "I was talking to Tom Riddle, and he said something funny."

"Riddle has a sense of humor?" Mr. Carney looked even more disbelieving. Tom glared at him.

"No, he said something weird, in an odd language, and all of a sudden this huge snake came out of the bushes!" Gregory spluttered, pointing at the myrtle bush. "Riddle talked to the snake with his funny language, and the snake attacked me! Riddle kept on yelling at it, and every time he said something, the snake would do something else!"

Mr. Carney looked up at Tom, his face contorted. Tom could see that Mr. Carney's shrunken mind had drawn a blank. He clearly thought the story was complete rot, but here he had the chance to punish Tom Riddle, the boy he detested above all others. Eventually, to Tom's dismay, sadism won over logic. "Riddle," he muttered, "explain yourself."

"Are you suggesting, sir, that I have the ability to communicate with snakes?" Tom asked in a faux-scrupulous voice. "If you are, sir, perhaps you should take into account the absurdity--"

"I am suggesting nothing, Riddle," Mr. Carney growled. "Follow me." He closed his hand around Tom's left wrist and twisted it sharply. Tom flinched. He was left-handed, and this would mean that writing would be painful for at least a week.

Mr. Carney tried to lead Tom away, but Tom rooted his feet to the ground. There was no way he was taking another beating, not when he had been in the right. "I said follow me, boy," Carney said, his voice dangerously tense. "You will do as I say." Mr. Carney marched around to the back door, half pulling, half dragging Tom along with him.

He hurled Tom into the Wailing Room and hovered in the doorway. "That's ten days you've earned yourself, Riddle, and be grateful it isn't more than that. One meal every two days; it's far more than you deserve."

"You aren't going to beat me?" Tom cried in disbelief.

"Not today. I haven't the time today. The Chubbs are finalizing their adoption of Derek Pritchard." Tom struggled to remember who Derek Pritchard was. Was he that scrawny, runny-nosed little blond boy who was always asking Tom to play kick-the-can? Yes, that was it. Tom wondered vaguely why the Chubb family had picked Derek. "If you're lucky, I'll forget about beating you at all, but I wouldn't bank on that."

"I'll get dirty," Tom scorned, looking at Mr. Carney's slimy hair. Tom was one of only about four children in the orphanage who held any store by personal hygiene.

"Don't push your luck, Riddle," Mr. Carney snarled. He turned on his heel and left Tom to his very relieved thoughts.

On the fifth day, Tom woke up early. It appeared that Mr. Carney had forgotten about Tom's beating. Indeed, he seemed to have put it out of his mind that Tom even existed. As Hannah had pointed out as she had brought him his last meal, Mr. Carney had even found a new scapegoat. To Tom's delight, it was Gregory Hamill. Apparently, Mr. Carney thought Gregory was a bit off-balance because he kept insisting Tom could talk to snakes. Tom had neglected to tell Hannah that he was a Parselmouth, thinking it might upset her.

Tom walked into the adjacent half-bathroom and stood before the mirror. As far as grime was concerned, Tom was starting to look Carneyish. Disgusted, Tom filled the basin with water and washed up, bumping his elbow badly when he tried to remove the dirt from his hair. Tom had always taken an unusual interest in staying clean, probably because he was constantly surrounded by dirty people.

Tom's stomach rumbled loudly. He still had twenty-four hours to go before his next meal, unless Hannah managed to sneak him something before then. Tom collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the hunger pangs in his stomach. To pass the time, he sat up, pulled a small bundle out of his inside jacket pocket, and separated the items. The bundle was comprised of two articles. One was the four-page letter his mother had written to him before he was born, all about his heritage, his talents, and his father. Tom was the only one who had ever read the letter. In fact, he had taught himself how to read with that very letter when he was thirteen months old.

The second item was a wizard photograph of his mother and her best friend in their late teens. As was characteristic with magical photographs, the subjects were moving. Maria Salamair kept on hugging her friend, Charlie Digby, tightly around the neck, while Charlie laughed and tried to shove her away. Tom's mother looked remarkably like him; tall, spindly, and attractive. Charlie was also tall, but he was athletically built and fair-haired. Tom did not know anything about him except what his mother had written on the back of the photograph: "_Me (Maria Salamair, Slyth.) in my 6th year, w/ best friend Charlie Digby, Gryff., 7th year._"

Tom looked from the photograph to the letter. Apart from Hannah's stories, these were all he had to tell him about his mother. Tom watched the photograph with interest as Maria and Charlie seized sticks from the ground and began to feign a Muggle duel, laughing uncontrollably. He could even hear the sticks clapping together. However, the duel stopped, and the tapping noise continued. Tom's eyes shot up from the photograph, and he looked wildly around for the source of the sound. The only thing moving was something outside the window, and it was tapping on the bars fiercely. Upon closer observation, Tom recognized it as a barn owl.

Tom immediately thought back to the calendar on his wall. He quickly deduced that it was June twelfth. Cursing himself for forgetting, Tom rushed to the window and jammed it open. The owl landed softly on the grass, gazing at Tom with large, dark eyes. "Are you a Hogwarts owl?" Tom asked eagerly. The owl responded by holding out a talon, which held a rolled-up envelope. "Yes! All right, hang on." Tom slipped one of his slender hands through the bars. "Can you put that in my hand, owl?" The owl placed its foot in Tom's hand and released the letter. The owl's foot was very warm compared to Tom's hand, which was freezing.

"Thank you," Tom said appreciatively. "I'll go get something for you. Back in a flash!" The owl hooted and stayed where it was. Tom searched frantically for a scrap of food, finally finding a bit of stale sandwich crust. "Hope you like tuna fish and pickles," Tom sighed apologetically. The owl, however, seemed grateful, and it nibbled his thumb before taking off.

With the owl gone, Tom eagerly sat on his bed. The envelope was made of yellow parchment, and was held together by a large, purple wax seal. The seal was imprinted with a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake, all around a capital H. On the other side, Tom found the address.

_Mr. T. M. Riddle  
The Wailing Room, Whitechapel Home for Orphans  
Whitechapel, London, England_

Tom promptly broke the seal and opened the envelope. Two sheets of parchment fell into his lap. He seized the letter and read it, his heart beating a mile a minute.

_Dear Mr. Riddle,_

_It is my great pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins on September 1st, 1943. You will need to catch the 11:00 Hogwarts Express on Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Station on that day. A list of school items has been enclosed._

_Give my regards to Hannah Hiddy. Tell her, from me, that I still wear those socks she knitted for me in her fourth year, and they are still the most comfortable socks I have._

_Yours Truly,_

_  
Professor Albus Dumbledore  
Deputy Headmaster_

As though on cue, Hannah entered the room at that moment. She saw Tom sitting on the bed with his back turned, and immediately anticipated the worst: that Mr. Carney had not forgotten about the beating after all. "Tom?" she said gently. "Are you all right?"

Tom turned to face her, and Hannah nearly fainted. Tom Riddle, the boy who was well known for being perpetually gloomy, was beaming. His eyes were alive with happiness. Hannah found the effect slightly alarming, and she staggered backward a few steps. "I made it in!" he whispered. "I did it." Before Hannah could ask what he meant, he brandished the papers at her, smiling still wider. "Professor Dumbledore wants me to tell you he still wears those socks you gave him," Tom added as an afterthought. "But Hannah, Hannah, Hannah, I did it! I DID IT!" Tom grabbed Hannah's forearms and danced around the room. He seemed to be possessed by a new energy Hannah had never seen before.

"Tom--calm down--" Hannah sank onto the bed, exhausted, her face whiter than snow. Tom did not mind. He continued to spin around the room like a top, singing impromptu. Hannah noticed that he sang as well as his mother, if not better. "Tom, stop!" she commanded, though reluctant to stop listening to his voice. "If you keep on at that level, Mr. Carney will wake up and he'll come down here." Tom stopped singing immediately at mention of Mr. Carney, and he halted in mid-spin.

"Can we go shopping for my school things?" Tom asked eagerly after the awkward silence.

"We'll go in a couple of hours," Hannah replied. "I'll have to sneak you out, though. I brought you some breakfast," she added, indicating the bowl of porridge in her hands, which had slopped around an awful lot while Hannah had been spinning around the room.

"Thank you, Hannah," Tom said, the grin lingering on his face.

After Tom had finished his breakfast, Hannah took out her wand and tidied Tom up a bit (he still had soap suds in his hair, and his uniform was caked with dirt). Hannah disappeared briefly, and when she re-entered, she had good news. "Mr. Carney is still asleep, Tom," she informed him. "Hurry, now, we can get out through the back door."

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	3. Diagon Alley

Diagon Alley

The Leaky Cauldron was located in the more shell-shocked area of London, where they were still having air raids on occasion. Tom stared around the ruins of various buildings, amazed at how the block resembled a mouth with missing teeth. Some structures would be entirely intact, while one right beside it would be completely demolished. The few people out on the street kept glancing nervously at the sky, and though it was quite a warm day, Tom shivered.

"Well, this is it," Hannah said simply. "This is the Leaky Cauldron. Very famous place." She indicated the only building on the street that looked at all warm or inviting. Tom followed Hannah into it, casting a grim eye around the street before entering. The Leaky Cauldron was a small and somewhat dingy little inn, but it was packed with witches and wizards. A pre-teenaged witch in a flowered, pointed hat began whispering excitedly to her friend as she spotted Tom, and the two of them stared at him gleefully.

"Hannah!" the bartender grinned. He was in his thirties, and he had very bad teeth, which made Tom shudder with obsessive-compulsive aversion. "Here for a butterbeer?"

Hannah shook her head. "I'm going out back, George. Taking Tom to do his Hogwarts shopping." Hannah's hand tightened on Tom's shoulder. George scrutinized Tom through his pince-nez spectacles.

"So this is Tom Riddle," he remarked approvingly. "I can see why you go on about him so, Hannah. He looks like a nice kid." George looked back at Tom, who dropped his gaze sharply, his shyness already beginning to creep up on him. "You must be the tallest one in your class," George chuckled. "Play Quidditch, Tommy?"

Tom flinched. He hated being called Tommy, probably because one of Gregory Hamill's favorite insults was "Tommy Salami." "No," Tom answered, still staring at his ancient shoelaces.

"Better get going, then," Hannah exclaimed. "Come along, Tom, there's a lad." She marched him out the back door of the inn. Tom heard the young witches behind him whisper and giggle, and he flushed with embarrassment.

The back lot of the Leaky Cauldron was blocked all around by an old brick wall. Hannah took out her wand and tapped one of the bricks. Tom gave out a cry of shock as the wall dissolved, revealing an arched doorway. "Follow me," Hannah commanded, not unkindly. Tom's mind was going a mile a minute. They had walked out into a long street bathed in sunlight. The lane seemed to have a golden glow around it, and the sight of it made Tom want to run along and look in every shop.

After a brief visit to Gringotts, the wizard bank, Tom removed his school list from his pocket.

UNIFORM  
First-year students will require:  
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon's hide or similar)  
4. One winter cloak (any color acceptable, metal fastenings)  
5. One robe sash (any color acceptable)  
COURSE BOOKS  
All students should have a copy of each of the following:  
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk  
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot  
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore  
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander  
A History of the Dark Arts by Viktor Berger  
OTHER EQUIPMENT  
1 wand  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set glass crystal phials  
1 set brass scales  
1 telescope  
2 quills (eagle feather or similar)  
10 rolls of parchment (minimum)  
Students may also bring an owl, cat, toad, or any other small animal. Students are reminded, however, that bats, tarantulas, and flesh-eating slugs are not allowed.

PARENTS SHOULD REMEMBER THAT FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

"I'll take care of the books for you, Tom," Hannah said, taking the list. "You can go into Madam Malkin's Robe Shop and buy your school uniform. This should be enough to cover the charges." She pressed several golden coins into Tom's hand and disappeared into a bookshop called Flourish and Blott's. Tom headed into the shop directly adjacent to it, butterflies fluttering around his stomach. He hated talking to adults, they made him nervous.

A tiny bell rang somewhere when Tom entered the shop. Madam Malkin, a very young woman with flyaway brown hair, turned around to look at him. "Hello, my dear," she breezed, gliding across the room. "Are you here for your Hogwarts shopping?" Tom nodded, and Madam Malkin smiled at him. She led Tom into a back room, where two other children were being fitted. One was a pasty boy with a pointed face and dark brown hair, and the other was a girl with white-gold hair and an extremely attractive visage.

"My, you've long arms and legs!" Madam Malkin informed Tom after measuring him. "Don't worry, though, we'll fit you properly." She bustled off to find some black robes. The two strange children turned to him.

"Hogwarts?" asked the brown-haired boy.

"Yes. I'm starting this year."

"So am I," the boy replied. His voice had a bored, conceited drawl to it, which Tom disliked immensely. "The name's Malfoy. Francis Malfoy." He waved an uninterested hand in the direction of the blonde girl, who promptly tossed her hair haughtily. "That's Ambika Dawes," he informed Tom. "She's starting this year, too."

"What is your name?" Ambika queried, her proud blue eyes roving from Tom's dingy shoes up to his nervous face. She was practically guffawing her disapproval.

"Tom Riddle." Tom had the sudden urge to slap Ambika silly to stop her from sniggering at him.

"I don't believe I've heard of your family," Francis drawled. "You aren't a Muggle-born, are you?" he added, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

Tom glared right back into Francis's cold, grey eyes. "I am half-blooded," he said softly. He was finding it harder and harder not to dislike this boy.

"Oh, really?" Francis's nose remained slightly scrunched. "Well, _I'm_ pure-blooded, and Ambika is too, if you can count a veela mother as being a witch." Tom whirled on Ambika, who was smiling smugly. Hannah had once explained to him that veela were beautiful but unpleasant creatures, originating in Bulgaria and possessing a strange power over humans, particularly males. Tom eyed Ambika with curiosity, but he did not feel at all bewitched. Perhaps half-veela were not as strong, he mused.

Madam Malkin turned up a few seconds later with a set of robes. Tom tried them on, discovering quickly that they were too baggy. "That's no problem, dear," said Madam Malkin good-naturedly. She tapped the hem of the robes with her wand, and they were immediately a perfect fit. "So that's three in this size, Annamae," she told her assistant, folding up the robe. Tom selected a hat, a forest green cloak with silver fastenings and brocades, and an emerald-colored robe sash embroidered in silver threads.

"Going for Slytherin?" Ambika laughed derisively, picking out a cloak of frosty sky-blue. "They don't usually accept Mudbloods, you know." Tom pretended not to hear, concentrating on Madam Malkin, who was enchanting the fingers of his gloves so that they were long enough to accommodate his lanky hands. He paid for his purchases and hurried out of the store, laden with bags. Hannah met him outside, looking ill but happy.

"I have your books," she said, "and I bought your cauldron and phials at the Apothecary. You must have had a time in the fitting room, Tom."

Tom made a loud "tuh" and bustled past her, clutching the bags in his arms. "I'm not very easy to fit," he retorted shortly. The snobbish children in the robe shop had put him in a bad temper, and he was not particularly talkative as he and Hannah acquired his telescope, scales, quills, and parchment. He finally explained what had happened, and Hannah frowned slightly.

"I wouldn't take a Malfoy seriously," Hannah snorted. "They're bad blood through and through. Francis's grandfather is in Azkaban for spying with Grindelwald." Tom cocked his head in interest. Grindelwald was an Austrian wizard who was currently wreaking havoc in the Caucasus region. Many a great wizard had fallen because of him, and he was considered an active threat even by British witches and wizards.

"Thing is," Hannah continued, "the Malfoy family is so stuck-up that they won't even give a half-blood the time of day. A lot of wizard families hate Muggle-borns, but only a Malfoy will also turn his back on a half-blood." Tom shot a glance across the street. Francis was coming out of the Magical Menagerie with a large screech owl on his shoulder. He was flanked by his pallid-looking parents, who were doting on him fondly. Tom sneered and turned away.

Now, all that was left was Tom's wand, which Hannah insisted Tom buy on his own. "I have to do some of my own shopping at the Apothecary," she informed him when he asked for an explanation. Sighing heavily, Tom dragged himself into Ollivander's Wandshop, praying he would not meet any other unsavory children inside. Ollivander's was dusty and dimly lit inside, its walls lined with hundreds of boxes. The only furnishings were a desk and a chair, and the light was coming from an open door near the back of the room. The shopkeeper was nowhere to be seen, so Tom sat down in the rickety chair and waited. To his luck, there were no other children about.

Tom did not have to wait for very long. A man about Tom's height with greying hair and silver eyes emerged from the back room and placed a box in one of the empty shelf spaces. Tom stood up to greet him. "Are you Mr. Ollivander?" he asked.

The silver-eyed man turned around and noticed Tom for the first time. "Yes," he responded after a long silence. "Ah, you are starting at Hogwarts." He swept forward and looked into Tom's face. Mr. Ollivander's eyes narrowed suddenly, and he examined Tom more closely. "Are you Maria Salamair's son?" he inquired.

"Yes. I'm Tom Riddle." Tom stared into Mr. Ollivander's eyes. What an unusual color, more than a little mysterious. Then again, Tom thought, his own eyes were not particularly normal themselves.

Mr. Ollivander's face broke into a smile. "I sold your mother her wand," Mr. Ollivander proclaimed. "Ten-and-a-quarter inches long, cherry and unicorn hair, rather supple. An excellent wand for transfiguration, that was. Now we shall see which wand suits you the best." Mr. Ollivander removed a stack of boxes from a shelf. "Which is your wand hand, Tom Riddle?"

"My left," Tom stated immediately. Mr. Ollivander gave him an odd, calculating look, but Tom chose to ignore it.

"Let's see..." Mr. Ollivander reached into the first box. "We'll try this first. Willow and unicorn hair, nine inches, whippy. Take it in your hand--" (here Mr. Ollivander flinched as Tom lifted the wand left-handed) "--and give it a good wave." Tom obeyed, but to no avail. The wand showed no sign of life. "How about this. Holly and dragon heartstring, twelve-and-a-quarter inches, bendy. Try."

This wand was unsuccessful as well. Tom went through seven stacks of boxes over the next hour, and none of the wands worked. By the bottom of the seventh stack, Tom's shoulder was killing him from all the waving, and he felt so exasperated that he wanted to jump up and down and scream. Hannah had sidled into the shop by now, and was sitting in the chair, watching with interest.

Mr. Ollivander was hoarse from talking so much. "Troublesome customer, are we?" he grinned, coughing. "Your mother found her match in just two minutes! Oh well, your powers must be choosy. Here, try this one. Yew-wood and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches, nice and flexible." Tom reached into the box and closed his fingers around the wand. Instantly, he felt a surge of hot energy shoot down his arm. He lifted the wand over his head and brought it down through the air.

A blast of sparks and colored light zoomed out of the wand and swirled all around the shop, bringing with it a gust of wind. Several boxes fell off their shelves, and the entire store was illuminated. Tom gasped and stared down at the wand in his hands. It felt warm under his fingers, and was still emitting tiny sparks. Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands with glee. "That'll be the one, Tom Riddle," he cried. "You have in your hands one of the most powerful wands I have ever come across. This one came from a healthy yew-tree and an exceptionally clever phoenix. We shall expect many great things from you, Tom Riddle."

"Bravo, Tom," Hannah cheered. "Better late than never, and what a finale!" Tom, his face flushed with relief, let his arm fall, still clutching the wand tightly. Hannah patted him on the shoulder and began searching her money bag. Mr. Ollivander was eyeing Tom's left hand shrewdly, but made no comment.

After they had paid for the wand, Tom voiced the question that had been lingering on his tongue for the longest time. "What's wrong with being left-handed?" he asked.

Hannah looked into his face. His brow was furrowed, and he looked deadly serious. "There's nothing wrong with it, per se," she said slowly. "It is simply very rare in the wizarding world. Some people think it is the sign of an outstandingly ambitious and powerful wizard, and I expect Mr. Ollivander was just worried that you might use your determination and talents the wrong way. But that's just superstition, Tom, I wouldn't worry about it." Tom continued to look worried, so to cheer him up, Hannah suggested that they pay a visit to the Magical Menagerie and buy his animal.

The wizarding pet store was beyond anything Tom could have imagined. All around him were animals of every shape and size, from owls to rats. Tom's eyes fell on a doe-eyed barn owl, who was clicking her beak disapprovingly at all the people. The owl hooted as Tom crossed over to meet her, and closed her eyes in relaxation when he stroked her feathers. Tom was beginning to think how much he would like an owl.

"Is that the one?" Hannah asked, watching the owl fly off its perch and land on Tom's shoulder, nibbling his hair. "Let's see. That owl's... er... one-hundred-fifty Galleons."

Tom's face fell. He did not have enough money to spend that much all in one go, and Hannah certainly did not, either. The owl hooted sadly and returned to its perch, sensing what Tom was thinking. Hannah apologized gently, but Tom was not listening. He checked the price for a rat, but even though he could afford the two Galleons, he abhorred rats.

It was at that moment that Tom noticed that at the back of the store, there was a whole wall of tanks, each containing one snake. He straightened up and turned away from the rat cages, his eyes in the direction of the snake tanks. As Tom approached them, the snakes began whispering excitedly through the tank walls. Apparently, a snake could tell when a Parselmouth was near. "Hello," he hissed, making sure the shopkeeper was off somewhere else. "How are you, my friends?"

The snakes were all leaning toward him eagerly. "Are you going to buy one of usss?" a tiny garter snake asked keenly.

"I would ssso like it if you purchased me," a boa constrictor cried. "Thisss cage is rather too sssmall for me." Before Tom knew it, all of them were raising their voices, begging for Tom to buy them. Tom spotted a silvery snake with intent eyes that seemed especially persistent. He bent over to speak to it more quietly.

"What is your name?" he asked softly.

"I have no name," the snake replied, its voice like silk. "None of the other sssnakes like me much, ssso they have never named me." Tom felt a pang of empathy.

"Do you want a friend?"

"YESSS!" The snake was nodding excitedly.

Tom stood up and beckoned the woman behind the counter. "I'd like to buy this one, if you please." The woman looked impressed and slightly worried.

"That one's an Indian king cobra," she informed him. "Sure you can handle him, my boy?"

Tom exchanged a few whispered words with the snake. "He won't hurt me," Tom finally deduced. He paid the six Galleons for the cobra and bought a wicker cage for fourteen Knuts.

"What did you get?" Hannah asked, looking away from a fluffy ginger cat. Tom opened the wicker cage and the cobra poked its head out, flicking its tongue and spreading its hood. Hannah jumped back, dropping Tom's cauldron with a loud bang. The other customers turned and stared.

"His name is Nepenthe," Tom said casually, "and he won't hurt you. Hold out your hand. See? He likes you." Nepenthe licked Hannah's hand, and she immediately withdrew it, grimacing and muttering. Tom laughed. He had a very cheerful, warm laugh, in complete contrast to his usual sadness. Hannah glared at him, still terrified, but Tom continued to laugh, even as she dragged him out of the shop.

"She'll get used to you," Tom whispered reassuringly to Nepenthe, as they left Diagon Alley and came out at the Leaky Cauldron.

"I hope ssso," Nepenthe sighed, curling up. "I hate to think that she will dissslike me."

With some reluctance, Hannah agreed to hide Nepenthe in her room until term began, along with Tom's school things. All through the summer, Tom would spend his recreation periods inside, reading the spellbooks over and over until he knew them all by heart.

After a while, he started doing small magic, turning bottles into toadstools and snails into teacups. One day in July, Tom even managed to make all of his school robes stand up, as though someone invisible were wearing them, and he had had them dance around the room with each other. Hannah had walked in on this operation and had been quite impressed with Tom's progress.

In August, Tom made a quick trip to Diagon Alley by himself, and he returned with his arms full of books he had bought for extra reading. Most of them involved advanced magic, including some rather unusual curses Tom was sure were not taught in school. For instance, he managed to master a curse that made the victim spew slugs for hours, and another that made leeks sprout out of one's ears. By the end of the month, he had become an adept dueler on top of everything else.

It was becoming harder and harder for Mr. Carney to find him. Mr. Carney could never catch him doing something he should not do. Gregory Hamill, too, seemed to have backed down, ever since the snake incident. Tom was left to himself, and he preferred it that way. It was easier for him to study, and however he might want to see Gregory with rabbit ears and a fluffy tail, Tom preferred the quiet.

All the while, Tom was counting down the days until September first.

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	4. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravencalw, and S...

Gryffindor, Huffelpuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin

Tom woke on September first to an enormous pattering on the roof. As he stepped out of bed and into his slippers, there was a flash, and the dormitory was briefly illuminated as thunder howled outside. He checked the wall clock and discovered that it was six-thirty. Tom had a fleeting idea of going back to sleep, but his stomach had already filled with energetic toads. Groggily cursing his nerves, Tom pulled on a dressing gown over his pajamas and sneaked across the hall to Hannah's room, making sure that Mr. Carney was safely snoring in the next chamber.

Tom rapped his knuckles on Hannah's door, quietly so that Mr. Carney would not wake up. Apparently, though, it was not enough to wake Hannah, either. He knocked again, but nobody answered. Tom tried the handle, knowing even as he did so that Hannah locked her doors at night. "Fine, be difficult," he snapped in a whisper. If Hannah was not awake, someone else was. Someone a little more nocturnal than Hannah. "Nepenthe!" Tom hissed through the keyhole. "Are you there?"

"Yesss," Nepenthe replied.

"Can you wake Hannah for me?" Tom requested. He knew Hannah would probably be after his blood if Nepenthe touched her, but he was desperate. "Just swat her with your tail or something."

"Pleased to ssserve," Nepenthe responded, with what sounded like a smile in his voice. Exactly eight seconds passed, and a muffled scream rang out. Luckily, Hannah had shrieked into her pillow, which stifled most of the noise. Mr. Carney snored on, although Tom heard a few of the orphans stir. Nobody came out, to Tom's relief.

After a few moments, Hannah could be heard shooing Nepenthe back into his basket. Tom struck the door again, and Hannah appeared in the doorway a second later, looking both terrified and homicidal. When she spotted Tom, she blanched. "Well," she fumed quietly, "guess whose 'harmless animal' just licked the back of my neck? Guess whose little pet scared me out of my wits?"

"Whose?" Tom asked innocently. He feigned a look of realization. "Did Mr. Carney set Bart Werner on you?" Tom queried, his face earnest. He was referring to the only orphan Mr. Carney liked at all; everybody viewed Bartholomew as Carney's lap dog.

Hannah could not resist laughing into her hand. "You go get ready, I'll get started on your packing," Hannah grinned, back in high spirits. Tom rushed off and returned quickly, wearing his only good clothes, a pair of blue jeans and a plaid sweater. He set to work dumping books into the trunk. Hannah hesitated suddenly, holding a book at arm's length.

"_An Encyclopædia of Curses and Hexes_?" she asked inquisitively. "First-years don't need to know how to duel."

"I thought it could be useful," Tom shrugged, taking the book out of her hand and placing it on top of _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1_. He put his robes in the trunk last, knowing he would have to change into the uniform on the train. Once the packing was done, Hannah removed a second trunk from her closet. "Going somewhere?" Tom inquired.

"No," Hannah replied. "It's for Abby."

"Who's Abb--" Tom started, but stopped talking as a girl knocked tentatively on the doorframe. She was short, plump, and pretty, with auburn plaits and a rosy face. Tom recognized her as one of the rare orphans who clearly bathed often, and Tom could not remember ever having a confrontation with her. She looked at him curiously, positively beaming with excitement.

"This is Abby Forrey," Hannah informed Tom, rising to meet her. "She got one of the letters too, Tom. Abby, this is Tom Riddle."

"Also known as Tommy Salami," Tom put in coldly, as he watched Abby struggle to recognize him.

"Oh yeah!" Abby said cheerfully. She cocked her head. "I didn't know you knew how to talk." Tom furiously plunged a hand into his open trunk for his wand, but Hannah seized his arm and tugged him away from the trunk. Abby did not seem to notice. "I had no idea that stuff I could do was magic," she prattled. "My parents were both...Muggles, do you call them? Yes, both of them were Muggles, and I didn't even know magic existed until June! I can't wait, can you?"

Stupid question, Tom thought bitterly. Based on the Muggles he knew, none of them were any good. He was beginning to think that Abby, what with her Muggle parentage, had probably inherited a mean streak and a fondness for spontaneous beatings. Abby seemed pleasant enough, of course, but she had to have Muggle characteristics, and Tom expected her to show them at any time. "I can't wait either," Tom sighed, gingerly closing his trunk.

After they finished packing, Hannah magicked herself into Muggle clothes to Abby's intense awe, and the children lugged their trunks down to the lobby. Abby had a toad in a glass tank, which shrank away from Nepenthe's basket as though it knew what was inside. "He smells delicious," Nepenthe joked, and Tom gave out a hearty guffaw. Abby turned to see what he was laughing at, but Tom quickly masked it with a cough.

Hannah appeared a few minutes later. "We'll be taking a Ministry car," she said, looking breathless and wan. "They provide them for people who can't get to King's Cross any other way." As she spoke, a deep green car appeared in the drive on the other side of the playfield, water rolling down its sides. Tom grabbed his trunk in one hand and Nepenthe's cage in the other. Hannah escorted them down the steps hurriedly, but however they rushed, all three were soaked to the skin by the time they got to the car. A driver stepped out and placed their luggage in the car trunk, then opening the car door as they piled into the back.

Right as Tom was fastening his seatbelt, a great fork of lightning rent the sky, promptly followed by a clash of thunder. Abby squealed and snatched Tom's elbow. Tom had quite a time shaking her off, quickly starting to think that Abby was a bit of a pill. "Sorry," Abby said meekly, after Tom finally managed to throw her hand off his arm. "I'm afraid of thunderstorms."

"So I've noticed," Tom retorted shortly, resting his forehead on the windowpane and glaring out into the storm. Tom had always enjoyed lightning and thunder, and was not about to let Abby's phobias ruin his fun.

They arrived at King's Cross about two hours later. Hannah removed two peanut butter sandwiches from her bag and handed them to Abby and Tom, who ate them hurriedly. Hannah's watch told them it was ten-thirty, so they had half an hour to get their trunks on the train and claim compartments. Tom wearily stepped out into the sirocco and dragged his trunk into the station, Abby close behind him.

"All you have to do is walk through the barrier separating Platforms Nine and Ten," Hannah informed them, helping Abby lift her trunk onto a trolley. "That will transport you to the Hogwarts Express platform. Hurry now, or you won't get decent seats." Abby rushed off, disappearing through the barrier. Tom lingered, his hand on the trolley, staring at Hannah.

"Well, goodbye," Tom said awkwardly. "I'll miss you, Hannah."

Hannah rumpled his hair. "I'll miss you too, Tom. Be sure to write to me, and keep me up to date on everything you do." Tom looked rather forlorn, but Hannah beamed at him. "Hurry up, Tom, I've got to get back to the orphanage before Mr. Carney realizes I've left someone else in charge." Tom nodded slowly and steered his trolley toward the barrier. Hannah watched him vanish, then spun on her heel and left.

With the hiss of steam being released from a valve, the Hogwarts Express started up. Tom looked out of the compartment window and watched all the proud parents waving their children goodbye. He spotted the Chubbs waving wildly at their daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were standing nearby, looking depressed, and Tom even saw a veela who had to be Ambika's mother, blowing curt kisses at a nearby window. Tom noticed in mild wonder that even the full-veela did not have the stupefying effect on him that Hannah had described.

Gradually, the station disappeared, replaced by gloomy outdoor scenes. The lightning seemed to have passed, leaving only a grim rainstorm. Tom rolled his eyes and turned away, looking around his compartment. His trunk kept sliding around under his seat, and Nepenthe was fast asleep in his cage, robbing Tom of the only company he might have had. After a while, Tom took his trunk out from under the seat and opened it, changing into his school robes and placing his wand in his belt. As an afterthought, Tom put on his hooded velvet cloak as well, knowing he would have to have something to keep him dry once he got off the train. Once he was in his uniform, Tom pulled _Hogwarts, A History_ out of his trunk and settled down for a long read.

Tom barely had time to read, for there was a sudden knock on the door of the compartment, and Tom looked up sharply. "Who is it?" he demanded.

The door to the compartment slid open, and Tom bit his lip. It was Francis Malfoy, in the company of Ambika Dawes. Both of them looked just as truculent as ever, and they were both wearing their school robes and cloaks. "You would not mind if we sat in here, would you?" Francis asked coldly. Without waiting for an answer, the two of them sidled in. Francis was smirking, and Ambika had that uppity sneer on her face. "Riddle, right?" Francis scoffed.

"That's Tom, to you," Tom snapped, turning back to his book. Francis gave a nasty laugh.

"What an ordinary name," Ambika cackled. "Is it Thomas, or just Tom, like a smelly old tom cat?"

Tom looked up and surveyed Ambika mildly. "Do you always snort like that, Ambika, or do you have a head cold?" he retorted. Francis's smile was replaced by an ugly look.

"You have no right to say that to her, Mudblood," he snarled.

In one movement, Tom rose to his feet and whipped his wand out of his belt, pointing it at Francis. His eyes were unusually bright again, and his arm was shaking slightly. "Never call me that," he whispered. "Never. The wizard blood I have is far more potent than you could ever imagine, Francis. Now, get out of here. Nobody invited you."

Francis looked amused. "What can you do to me, Mudblood?" he chuckled. "I bet you can't even perform a simple--"

Tom's wand emitted a jet of orange light, and Francis cried out in pain as large green sprouts popped out of every inch of skin on his face and arms. Ambika plucked one of the sprouts, and it turned out that Tom had hit Francis with a Carrot Curse. Tom watched in amazement as Francis bounced around, tugging carrots out of his arms. The carrots he removed were quickly replaced by new ones. "Serve you right!" Tom said icily. "Now take your girlfriend and get out of here before I do something worse." Francis heeded Tom's warning and sprang out of the compartment, quickly followed by Ambika, who looked stunned.

Tom fell back into his seat, flushed with fury and exhilaration. He felt strange, like an enormous bubble was expanding right under his throat. He had never really anticipated the feeling of power it gave him to see someone under the influence of his own magic. Francis Malfoy was scared out of his wits and covered with carrot sprouts, and Tom had been the one to put him in that state. If he could do that, Tom mused, he could do anything! Slowly, Tom looked down at his left hand. His knuckles were white around the wand, and he was still shaking. Tom replaced it into his belt, not quite sure what to think. Instead of pondering it further, Tom resumed his reading.

At six-thirty, the train screeched to a halt at Hogsmeade Station, and the students timidly filed off the train. Tom left his luggage on the train like everybody else, tugged the hood of his cloak over his head, and followed the other students down the steps, his pointed hat clutched in his hand. The platform was noisy and crowded, but Tom was able to make his way across it. A tall, auburn-haired professor was waving his hands in the air, his half-moon spectacles glinting. "First-years, this way!" he cried. "First years, over here." Tom was one of the first to find him, mainly because he was so tall that he could see over everyone else's heads. "Are you a first-year? Good. Just stay by me, don't let anyone shove you away. First years, over here!"

Gradually, Tom was surrounded by about forty boys and girls, all shivering in the pouring rain. The auburn-bearded professor marched them away from the crowd toward the edge of a lake, where ten boats were tied to the dock. Tom got into the same boat as the auburn-haired professor, and three other children sat there with him. One of them was a very disgruntled Lucy Chubb, who was fretting over the rainwater on her ermine cloak. The other two were conversing intently, and when they spotted Tom, they started whispering madly. Tom recognized them as the two girls who had giggled at him in the Leaky Cauldron.

Lucy seemed to know them. "Christie, Michelle, hi!" she greeted, scooting over to sit with them. "How are you?" The tête-à-tête continued in hushed voices, and the three of them kept glancing at Tom, grinning. Disgusted, Tom turned his attention to the professor.

"Is everybody in a boat?" the professor hollered over the din. "All right, off we go!" The boats magically broke free of the dock and sailed across the lake. Rain kept splashing into Tom's eyes, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Tom had never been in a boat before, and it was wonderful. Tom thought he saw an enormous squid dart under the boat, but he might have imagined it.

Tom was the only one who was really liking the ride. Most people looked pale and green, and those who did not were leaning over the side of their boats. Tom tried not to watch, but he did take some pleasure in noting that Francis Malfoy was among the sickest. His pasty face had been rid of carrots, and Tom guessed he had found an older student who knew the counter-curse.

Once they had made it back on solid ground, the professor led them through a thicket of trees, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry finally came into view. It was a towering castle with numerous turrets. Above the large oak doors was a burnished copper shield bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms. Tom read the words of the school motto on the shield, "_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_," and could not stifle a laugh. He knew enough Latin to realize that this meant "Never tickle a sleeping dragon."

Finally, the students dashed up the stone steps into the entry hall, sopping wet and freezing. The entry hall was beautiful inside, more attractive than any other room Tom had ever seen. The house flags hung on the walls, and their way was lit by glimmering torches. The professor stood before them, allowing them to admire the hall briefly before beginning his welcoming speech. Tom peeled his hood off his head and riveted his eyes on the professor, suddenly very conscious of the fact his cloak was dripping on the floor.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I am to be your Transfiguration teacher," the professor began. "You are about to be sorted into your school Houses. There are four Houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." Tom wondered vaguely why Slytherin was always listed last, and Gryffindor first. "Each has a noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. You will be placed in your House based on your character and talents, but trust me, none of the teachers here are about to play favorites. Just because I happen to be head of Gryffindor House does not mean that I will give a Slytherin an F on an A test." A few people sighed with relief, and Professor Dumbledore gave them a reassuring smile.

"Well, without further ado, let's get you lot Sorted." With that, he threw open a set of double doors and the first-years scurried inside. Tom found himself in an enormous chamber whose beauty far surpassed that of the entrance hall. There were four long tables, two along each of the longest walls, draped in dyed linen. One table was red, one blue, one green, and one yellow. At the very head of the room was a table with a violet cloth. There were four large stained glass windows (one design for each House) along one of the walls, and the rest of the walls were hung with tapestries. Tom's eyes shot up to the ceiling, which was enchanted to look like the sky outside. Right now it was turbulent and stormy, with the occasional flash of lightning.

As they entered, hundreds of heads turned their way, and Tom suddenly felt very small. He had not known that they had to be Sorted in front of the entire school. Professor Dumbledore swept in, carrying a stool and a patched, frayed wizard's hat. He set the stool down in the middle of the room with the hat on top of it, then stood aside. After a few seconds, and completely without warning, the hat began to sing.

_"I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,  
First sewn in days of yore.  
I have lived right here for many years,  
Ten centuries or more.  
My masters were a clever bunch  
With powers of renown.  
They built this place with magic and  
Their names are quite well known.  
Sir Gryffindor, the brave and bold,  
Young Hufflepuff, the kind,  
Bright Ravenclaw, of books and words,  
Slytherin, the shrewd of mind.  
They sought their students far and wide,  
Searching without rest,  
But each had his or her notion  
Of which children were the best.  
Gryffindor loved those of spunk,  
Adventurous and daring.  
Hufflepuff preferred the ones  
Who were patient, sweet, and caring.  
Ravenclaw was fond of those  
Whose brains were sharp and clear.  
Slytherin sought those of wit  
Who held ambition dear.  
When they were getting on in years,  
The founders had a fear.  
When they all were dead and gone,  
Who would choose students here?  
That is where this Hat comes in.  
They chose me as the one  
Who would select the best for them  
Out of the mighty throng.  
So put me on, don't be afraid.  
I've never yet been wrong.  
Hear what I've said upon your head  
And go where you belong!"_

There was an uproarious applause, and Tom felt relief wash over him. He had only to put on a hat, that was not too embarrassing. Professor Dumbledore raised his hands for silence. "I will read off your name," he shouted over the din, "and you will sit on the stool and put on the Sorting Hat. When the Hat calls out your House, you will go to your appropriate table. Aberson, Robert!"

A small boy with mousy hair staggered forward, shivering from head to toe. The Hat completely covered his face. In a few seconds, it screamed, "HUFFLEPUFF!" The yellow table erupted with cheers, and several Hufflepuffs rose to pat Robert on the back. Tom realized they must be going in alphabetical order, and his heart sank. He would have to wait forever.

"Andes, Electra!" A girl with golden hair and freckles glided forward and sat down on the stool, placidly placing the Hat on her head. It had barely grazed her head when it loudly proclaimed her a Slytherin. Electra smiled slightly and pirouetted over to the green table, where she was greeted warmly.

"Bates, Murray!" then became a Ravenclaw, followed by "Birch, Serena!" being made Slytherin. "Cedric, Philip!" became the first new Gryffindor, and the red table gave him a rowdy welcome. Tom thought the Gryffindors looked like a bunch of troublemakers, though not in an unpleasant way.

"Chubb, Lucy!" Tom watched as Lucy stomped forward grumpily, water still dribbling off of her matted ermine cloak. The Hat had a lot of trouble with Lucy, who kept on loudly requesting, "Anything but Slytherin. Anything but Slytherin." Finally, Lucy was sent to the Gryffindor table, and Tom sighed with relief. If she was in Gryffindor, Tom would not have to deal with her too often.

After Jack Davidson was made a Ravenclaw, Ambika Dawes sailed along and sat on the stool, flirting with the boys before putting the Hat over her silvery hair. Tom looked around. Every male face at every House table was looking hopeful. "GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat cried. There was a roar of outrage from the other three tables, while the Gryffindor boys looked smug.

The Sorting went on. Tom watched Abby Forrey get Sorted into Hufflepuff, exactly as he predicted. He was beginning to feel restless by then. "Laughlan"... "Lewis"... "Mallory"... "Malfoy, Francis!" Tom was jerked out of his reverie as he watched Francis swagger forward. He crossed his fingers in his pockets, praying that Francis would be put in any House but--

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat shrieked. Tom groaned and slumped against the wall, hiding his face in his hands. How could he go into Slytherin, knowing that Francis was going to be there, too? Tom only opened his eyes when Professor Dumbledore got to the names beginning with P.

"Palmer, Beth!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Pearson, Griffith!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Tom watched as Lili Po, a shy-looking Asian girl, was sorted into Ravenclaw. His heart was beating so loudly he was surprised nobody else could hear it. Surely he was next. He had to be. The next seconds seemed to go in slow-motion.

"Riddle, Tom!"

Tom walked right up to the stool, his back straight and his head held high. He could feel the eyes of every person in the hall, following him, wondering where this boy would go. Slowly, Tom lowered himself onto the seat, and he placed the Sorting Hat upon his head. It fell over his eyes, and Tom gripped the edge of the stool very hard. "Finally," he thought to himself.

"Impatient, are you?" said a tiny voice in his ear. "Mmm hmm. Let's see here. Wow, what a mind! You have quite an intellect in here, Tom." Tom smiled. "You would certainly do well in Ravenclaw with a brain like that. Brave, too. You have many talents, more than even you could imagine." The Hat paused. "Hufflepuff, as you probably know, is out of the question, and Gryffindor wouldn't work for you," the Hat said shortly. "They'd both reject you. You're too different. It's Ravenclaw or Slytherin, Tom Riddle. It's up to you."

Tom sighed, considering his choices. "Ravenclaw, but--"

"Only because that Malfoy boy is in the House you really want?" the Hat replied smartly. "I wouldn't do that to you, Tom Riddle. What you really want is your destiny, and your destiny is...SLYTHERIN!" Tom pulled the Hat off his eyes. The entire hall was still watching him as he shakily rose, placed the Hat on the stool, and ambled over to the green table. The Slytherins were all beaming widely at him, but Tom could not help but hear the booing and hissing coming from the Gryffindor table.

"Ignore them," a Slytherin fourth-year advised him, her brows furrowed at the Gryffindors. "They're just jealous." Tom shot a fiery glance back over at the Gryffindor table, but they were watching Molly Robbins being Sorted, and seemed to have forgotten he existed. The Gryffindors started cheering and stamping as Molly headed toward their table, grinning broadly.

Francis Malfoy was looking murderous. "You got into Slytherin?" he sneered in disbelief. "Who'd you have to pay to get the Hat to put you here, Mudblood?"

"I wouldn't make any comments if I were you, Malfoy," Tom replied smoothly, "or I'll set a rabbit on you. You know how much they love carrots." Most of the Slytherins howled with laughter, including a boy who had just sat down on Tom's left.

Francis turned crimson and went for his wand, but he noticed that one of the teachers was looking at him. "You're lucky the teachers are watching," Francis scowled. Tom snickered and turned away.

Once the Sorting was done, the golden plates and goblets were magically filled. Tom stared at his plate. He had never been offered so much food before in his life. He promptly began to eat faster than any of the others, as though worried someone would take it all away. The other Slytherins stared at him like they had never seen a human being before. The boy beside him who had laughed at Francis looked nonplussed. "Hungry?" he asked gingerly.

Tom struggled to swallow a mouthful of rice. "Ravenous," he replied, and he immediately started up again.

"Do they starve you at home, Mudblood, or are you just a pig?" Francis scowled.

"Eat slime, Malfoy," a first-year girl snapped, shoving her bushy black bangs out of her eyes. "What a schmuck," she moaned. "Sorry about him. Tom, right? I'm Larkin Mallory." Tom shook her hand, and she grinned at him.

"How exactly did you do that Carrot Curse?" the boy beside him asked eagerly. "Zuhayr Sahabjira, by the way."

Before Tom knew it, several of the Slytherin first-years were demanding instructions on how to perform the curse. Tom was not quite sure what to do. He was not used to having people talk to him. Finally, he gave in, and started to describe the workings of the curse, while Francis glowered silently at the other end of the table


	5. The Other Houses

The Other Houses

_Tom was wandering through the hallway. It was not a Hogwarts hallway, but one he had never seen before. It was shadowed, with sinister-looking Muggle photographs on the walls. With every step, Tom felt a sense of foreboding. Tom looked down into his hand and saw that he had his wand out. He thought this was probably a good idea, something about the hall gave him the creeps._

_A sudden breeze came in from the next room. Tom looked in, and saw that the window was open, lacy curtains fluttering in the gust. He slowly walked over and closed the window and shut the drapes. As he turned to leave, a mirror caught his eye. It was full-length and edged with gold. Right now, it was pointed away from Tom, so he strolled over and looked at the front of it._

_He saw himself standing there, wearing his Hogwarts uniform. Tom realized he was a few years older, probably about fourteen or fifteen, and he seemed a little paler than usual. Then, without warning, the reflection in the mirror began to change. It grew taller, going from slender to skeletal, the skin going even paler. Tom took a few steps back in horror as the reflection acquired a completely new face. It was gaunt and flat, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes. "Behold," it laughed. The laugh was a high-pitched, frigid cackle. "Behold," the reflection repeated. It raised its wand and pointed it at Tom._

_There was a blinding flash of green light..._

"No!"

Tom was sitting bolt-upright in bed, his eyes as wide as saucers, breathing hard. The heavy, green velvet drapes of his bed were shut, but from the sound of it, none of the other Slytherin boys were awake. Tom opened the drapes slightly and checked his alarm clock. It was three o'clock in the morning, the morning after Tom had arrived at Hogwarts. Hands shaking, Tom got up and walked over to the window, where there was a small tap on the windowsill, along with five labeled goblets.

He filled his goblet with water and sipped it nervously as he stared out of the window. It was still dark, and it was raining as hard as ever. Tom sat down on the stool near his bed, still shaking. The dream was still vivid in his mind, especially that face with the red eyes. God, what a horrible face. It looked like a snake's face transfigured to fit a human head, and those eyes... Tom shuddered convulsively. There was a rustling sound, and Francis Malfoy poked his head out of the drapes. Tom glared at him. "Leave me alone," Tom murmured. The only reason Francis had not ratted (or cursed Tom in his sleep) was that two other Slytherin boys, Zuhayr Sahabjira and Adrian Müller, had threatened to put the Body Bind on him if he did.

"Why should I leave you alone, Mudblood?" Francis smirked.

"I'm a half-blood, Malfoy, when are you going to get that through your thick skull?" Tom said softly, his eyes boring into Francis like a pair of turquoise drills. "Now leave me alone, or I will make you." Francis was about to make another snide remark, but he stopped. He had realized that Tom was twirling his wand between his long fingers, looking quite like he might be considering cursing Francis again. Francis leered at him and whipped his drapes closed. It was hard to tell which face showed deeper dislike.

At eight o'clock, Tom woke again to a more active dormitory. Tiny, tubby Richard Zabini was hopping around, trying to get his foot into a sock. Adrian was fully dressed, waiting for Zuhayr, who was hurriedly trying to get ready. Tom panicked, worried that he might be late for class, but he remembered that class started at nine, and he still had an hour.

"Hey, Tom," Zuhayr grinned. "I see you're finally awake."

"I had a bad night," Tom replied loftily. The other boys laughed. "I had a nightmare about this hideous, evil specter..."

Adrian got a glint in his eye. "Speaking of which, where is Francis?" he asked. Tom and Zuhayr chortled, but Richard looked mildly offended.

"He went down to the common room already," Zuhayr responded, struggling to get his robes over his head. "Had this enormous book with him. Something about curses."

Tom thought rather nervously that Francis might be plotting revenge, but he did not let it bother him too much. His mind was still on the dream. What had it meant?

He washed up in the dormitory bathroom, dressed quickly, and followed Zuhayr and Adrian down the steps into the circular common room, leaving Richard still bouncing around the room. Like the Gryffindors, the Slytherins had a whole tower to themselves, and their common room was round and cozy. Tom saw Francis sitting before the fire, his face hidden behind 101 Easy Curses. When Tom passed him, Francis looked up and shot a glance of pure venom at him. "Nice to see you too, Francis," Tom said, giving Francis a fake grin.

"Smarmy git," Adrian added in an undertone as they walked away. "Bet he's trying to find something like the Carrot Curse to try on you."

Tom tossed his wand up in the air and caught it expertly. "Let's go down to breakfast, " Tom suggested.

"Good idea," Zuhayr replied. "I'm getting sick to my stomach being within smelling distance of Malfoy there."

The three boys headed down to the Great Hall, where most of the students were already dining. Larkin Mallory was waiting for them, munching on bacon and eggs. "Finally, the lazy crew turns up," she grinned. "Pull up some chairs." Larkin was a very pretty girl, but she could look quite tough if she wanted. Richard was already terrified of her.

Tom sat down between Larkin and Adrian, while Zuhayr sat across from them. Instantly, an extensive breakfast appeared on their golden breakfast plates. "So, what about this dream you had, Tom?" Zuhayr smiled. "What happened?"

Tom nearly choked on his bacon at the memory of it. "I don't want to talk about it," he said shortly, loading his fork with omelet. "It was really weird." That was the last time Tom mentioned the dream for a long time, and his friends did not protest.

Suddenly, there was a large amount of whispering, and emerald-green sheets of paper were passed along the table. "Course schedules!" a third-year cried, handing Tom a schedule with his name on it. The schedule told him he had Double Herbology with the Ravenclaws first thing. Just as Tom read this, there was a roar of rage from the Ravenclaw table. Several first-years were standing up, and one ran right up to Professor Dippet. "Why'd we get stuck sharing a class with those freaks?" the boy demanded hotly. Next came the Gryffindors, who also seemed peeved. The Hufflepuffs did not cry out at all, but they looked terrified.

"Potions was going to be my favorite class!" a Gryffindor girl shrieked. "How could you ruin it for us all?" The Hufflepuffs cast a set of identical, petrified glances toward the Slytherin table.

"That explains it," Adrian scoffed, looking at his schedule. "They're all upset because they have Double classes with us. See? We have Potions with the Gryffindors, and Charms with the Hufflepuffs." Tom frowned.

"Why would they be upset about having classes with us?"

"It's obvious, Tom," Larkin said, surprised. "Over the years, so many rich jerks have been made Slytherin, they think we're all that way." Tom looked mortally offended. "It's a bunch of hooey, of course," Larkin continued, "but with little rats like Malfoy scurrying around, the rumor seems true to them."

To make matters worse, Francis (who had just arrived) chose this time to loudly proclaim, "Ugh, we've got Herbology with all the fatheads!"

The Ravenclaws looked daggers at the Slytherins, and some of them shouted back, "Well, you shouldn't complain, we're having Herbology with all the two-timing snobs!"

"THAT'S QUITE ENOUGH!" Professor Dippet cried. "Five points from Ravenclaw, and Mr. Malfoy, you will pay off your outburst in detention." There was a ringing silence, and Tom turned back to his breakfast.

His stomach felt like a knot. Since when did the other Houses hate Slytherin? In his mother's photograph, her best friend was a Gryffindor. No, it could not be right. Tom got up from the table. "Where are you going?" Adrian asked. "You've barely eaten anything."

"I have to get ready for class," Tom replied absently. As he passed the Ravenclaw table, he caught the eye of a prefect and smiled. The Ravenclaw girl looked at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. "Morning," Tom called, hoping for any kind of response. The girl scowled at him and stuck out her tongue. His worst suspicions confirmed, Tom sighed heavily and hurried back to Slytherin Tower.

Tom had quite been looking forward to Herbology, but by the end of his first lesson, he was feeling doubtful. The teacher, Professor Sevigny, was a very good professor, but she could do little to stop the Ravenclaws from expressing their anger with the Slytherins over Francis's comment. Tom and Adrian ended up pruning the same Viridius plant as Fiona Jedias and Victoria Tanner, both of Ravenclaw. When Tom tried to engage them in conversation, the two of them just sneered at him. "Why do you hate us so much?" Tom demanded angrily.

"Is that the wind, Fiona?" Victoria scoffed. "I can't hear anybody talking."

At this, Tom lost his temper completely; without warning, their Viridius exploded, showering the two Ravenclaw girls with Viridian Juice. Both of them turned a brilliant shade of green and began sizzling, squealing in pain. Somehow, Tom managed to smooth it over, making it look like one of the girls had accidentally pruned one of the juice-filled bulbs. Professor Sevigny had to hurry off to the hospital wing with Fiona and Victoria in tow.

In distinctly low spirits, the Slytherins made their way up to Professor Xavier's Defense Against the Dark Arts class after lunch. Only Francis and Richard were happy. Unlike Tom and his friends, they seemed to find the demise of Victoria and Fiona amusing. "Did you see the look on their faces, the little prats?" Francis kept laughing.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was a far better experience than Herbology. First thing, Professor Xavier showed them a Red Cap in a tank, explaining its anatomy and powers. "The Red Cap is a distant relative of the vampire," Professor Xavier informed them. "See his fangs? They contain tiny canals into his stomach, and he sucks blood through his teeth." Annie Lewis retched and looked distinctly ill. Professor Xavier then explained how to ward off the Red Cap, hinting that there may be a test on the subject in the near future. Tom paid rapt attention and took so many notes that he used up a whole two-meter roll of parchment and significantly lowered his supply of ink.

"What do we have next?" Tom asked Zuhayr as they trooped out of the classroom.

"Transfiguration," Zuhayr replied, pulling out his Transfiguration book and his wand. "After that's Double Charms with Hufflepuff."

"Damn it, another Double class?" Zuhayr nodded grimly.

Professor Dumbledore greeted them outside the door of his classroom. He had a very long, straight nose, and his hair and beard were long enough to tuck into his belt. As they piled into the classroom, Tom accidentally collided head-on with Professor Dumbledore. Tom hit the floor, and Professor Dumbledore stumbled. "Sorry!" Tom gasped. "I'm so sorry, somebody hit me from the side--"

"Nice going, Riddle!" Francis called over Richard Zabini's head. Both of them were cackling stupidly. Professor Dumbledore looked at them sternly, and they fell silent at once.

He held out a hand and helped Tom off the floor. "Thanks--sorry," Tom mumbled awkwardly.

"You're welcome, and it's no problem," Dumbledore replied, smiling. "Tom Riddle, right?" Tom nodded.

Tom took a seat at the very front of the room, eager to begin. He had his hand on his wand. Professor Dumbledore swept up to his desk, took roll, and began the lesson. Again, Tom took a very extensive set of notes. He did not want to miss a thing. After the lecture was over, Professor Dumbledore handed out matches, which they were supposed to turn into needles. As Tom looked down at his match, he felt slightly disappointed. After turning bits of paper onto birds, this seemed too easy.

He took his wand out of his belt and tapped the match carelessly. Instantly, it became a perfect needle. Professor Dumbledore, who was pacing up the rows and giving people tips, saw Tom staring at the table and not doing anything. "Having trouble?" he started to ask, but he saw the needle lying on the desk, then looked up at Tom, who looked positively bored. "Mr. Riddle has done it," Professor Dumbledore announced, showing the class Tom's needle. "Good Lord, that only took you a few seconds. Can I see you at my desk, Tom?"

Francis sniggered. Tom looked up at the professor. Had he done something wrong? When he got to Professor Dumbledore's desk, the teacher pulled a flower out of the drawer. "Turn this into a butterfly, please, Tom," Professor Dumbledore prompted. Tom sighed. This was also too easy. A moment later, a large yellow butterfly was fluttering around the room.

Professor Dumbledore looked impressed. "You know your stuff," he chuckled. "Let's see..." He dug around in his desk and withdrew a teapot. "How about transfiguring this into a box turtle?" Tom was beginning to grow frustrated. Why was the teacher giving him so much easy work? The teapot vanished, replaced by a very grumpy looking turtle.

People were now standing up to see what Tom was doing. Professor Dumbledore kept giving him harder and harder objects to transfigure, until Tom (with a bit of difficulty) turned a pair of rabbits into a pair of bunny slippers and the professor had to give it a rest. He was looking at Tom with a mixture of amazement and confusion. "How much can you do?" he asked slowly. His blue eyes were twinkling.

Tom shuffled his feet. "That's probably it," he said softly. "Maybe a bit more, but I'm not sure how far I--"

The bell rang, and Tom hurriedly snatched his bookbag and rushed off before Dumbledore could ask him to do anything else. His face was bright pink, and his classmates kept staring at him.

Charms was taught by a small young man named Professor Flitwick, who looked like he was just out of school himself, and he had a voice like he had been breathing helium since birth. Tom took a seat close to a window, his quill at the ready. The Slytherins were there a lot earlier than the Hufflepuffs, who had to come all the way up from the Potions dungeon. When the Hufflepuffs arrived, they appeared to be scared out of their wits, and they took seats as far away from the Slytherins as possible.

Charms was nearly as bad as Herbology, but for an entirely different reason. The students were supposed to make their button hop across the table, and Tom, of course, mastered this before anybody else. Professor Flitwick, delighted, had Tom go around and help all of the Hufflepuffs, who were too nervous to perform the charm properly. Tom sighed heavily and made his way over to the Hufflepuffs. All of them looked extremely ill.

"Hi, Abby," Tom said, starting with the only Hufflepuff he knew. Abby squealed and shrank into her chair, shuddering. "Okay, all you need to do is--"

"I can do it by myself!" Abby squeaked, sounding very much like Professor Flitwick.

Tom glared at her and moved on to the next Hufflepuff, Daniel Jarvis, who only allowed Tom to help because he was too frightened to object. Half an hour later, Tom was beginning to wonder why the Hufflepuffs were so very afraid of the Slytherins, but at that instant, Michelle Field of Hufflepuff let out a long, piercing scream. Tom looked up sharply, and he saw that her right arm was covered with large green boils. Professor Flitwick rushed over, panicked, but Tom made it there first.

"_Avrecio Mavarium_," he cried, pointing his want at Michelle's arm. The boils disappeared, but Michelle did not look at all grateful. She scowled at him, her mild Hufflepuff temper exploding for once.

"YOU SLYTHERIN RAT!" She pointed at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. "WHY DID YOU CURSE ME?"

"He didn't curse you, dear, he performed the counter-curse," Professor Flitwick said soothingly.

"Yes, _after_ he cursed me!" she shrieked. Tom felt a surge of anger, and the wand in his hand suddenly gave off a jet of golden sparks. He hurriedly tucked it back into his belt.

"I didn't curse you," Tom snapped. "I had my wand away when you were cursed. Griffith Pearson can back me up, right?" Griffith nodded, wincing and clearly feeling bad for assisting an enemy. "Besides, why would I curse you, and then un-curse you? It doesn't make sense."

Michelle sank back into her seat, bristling. Tom looked back over at the Slytherin half of the room, and was not at all surprised to see that Francis Malfoy was smirking at him, his wand smoking. Richard Zabini was snickering. Professor Flitwick did not notice, and he went on with the lesson.

By the end of class, Tom had a few minor burns on his hands and wrists. Some of the Hufflepuffs decided to "accidentally" let sparks out of their wands, still not believing Tom was innocent. Michelle Field had abandoned all pretense and tried to curse him, but it had not worked. Professor Flitwick had had to take ten points from Hufflepuff to get her to stop.

"You think Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are bad," Adrian warned him, "wait till we get to Potions. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs dislike us immensely. The Gryffindors hate us."

Tom looked down at his charred hands, which Professor Flitwick had deemed unworthy of a visit to the hospital wing. "Let's just hope the Gryffindors don't know how to do much more than send sparks, either," Tom sighed. He thanked the Sages that Michelle Field had a lisp, or she would have pronounced "_sasprissionis_" correctly, and Tom would have Jelly Legs on top of everything else.

History of Magic, which was the Slytherins' first class on Tuesdays, would soon become one of Tom's favorites. The teacher, Professor Twiddy, was a tall black woman who knew how to make history interesting. On their very first day, Professor Twiddy handed out battle plans used in real goblin rebellions, saying that they would be directing trained pixies in replications of various important battles. She also promised they would have witch trials and other role-playing activities, all of which would help them learn history. By the end of the day, it was most Slytherins' favorite class.

Only Francis had anything to complain about, and that was that Professor Twiddy did not seem to like him. Then again, that did not surprise anybody except Richard Zabini.

Potions, however, was precisely the opposite. Professor Chapman was Head of Slytherin House, with a small beard and mustache, dusty-grey hair, and eyes the same color as Mr. Ollivander's. He was very strict, but Tom did not mind this. The Gryffindors were the problem. However friendly a Slytherin might try to be, the Gryffindors would be more likely to curse him or her than try diplomacy.

When they were making Swelling Solution, Molly Robbins had dipped a gloved hand into her cauldron and chucked a blob of potion across the room to the Slytherins. It hit the bespectacled Annie Lewis in the shoulder, and she had to hurry up to the front of the room, whimpering in pain as her shoulder ballooned to an enormous size. Professor Chapman gave Molly a detention and deducted fifty points from Gryffindor. The Gryffindors roared with outrage.

"Why do _they_ look so upset?" Larkin had sneered over her cauldron. "They didn't get splattered with potion, now, did they?" Tom glared over at the Gryffindors, who were comforting Molly. He quickly decided they were troublemakers in a bad way, after all. Lucy Chubb shot him a dirty look, and he averted his eyes.

Before anyone knew it, it was October. Since the beginning, Tom had wanted to learn everything. He was naturally ambitious, and this was probably increased by his acquired urge to prove himself. Tom wanted to demonstrate to everybody that he was not Tommy Salami anymore, that he could be more than that. In that sense, he succeeded immensely. By October, Tom was at the top of every class, studying harder than everybody else. His circle of friends had widened to include all of the first-year Slytherin girls and a good number of elder students, though Larkin, Zuhayr, and Adrian remained his closest companions. Even Richard Zabini was sometimes friendly, though he was generally loyal to Francis.

Unfortunately, the other Houses remained vindictive. The Ravenclaws, who were quite wordy, came up with brilliant insults, and the Hufflepuffs were adept at spreading rumors about older Slytherins. Tom was particularly unpopular with the Hufflepuffs, who still seemed to think he had cursed little Michelle Field. One day a fourth-year Hufflepuff, Rankin Prewitt, bribed Peeves the Poltergeist to sneak up on Tom in a hallway and draw polka dots on his robes with chalk. Tom had had to go to History of Magic looking like a white leopard in reverse.

However, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were nothing to the Gryffindors. For no reason other than sadism, a bunch of Gryffindors enchanted several buckets of water so that they would hover near the ceiling. Whenever a Slytherin walked under one, the bucket would overturn and dump water on the person's head. This got the Gryffindors into an awful lot of trouble, but not until after they had drenched all the Slytherins in the school at least twice.

On the first weekend of October, Tom, who had some free time for once, was curled up in the common room reading _An Assortment of Interesting Curses and Charms_. His friends were playing Exploding Snap and Gobstones on the rug, while Francis and Richard conversed in low tones, once in a while looking over to see if Tom was eavesdropping. Tom did not mind if they were plotting his assassination. He already knew disarming and blocking spells, and was confident that he could avoid being hexed by either of them.

All of a sudden, a piece of parchment appeared by the door. The first-years rushed over to read the notice.

**ATTENTION FIRST-YEAR SLYTHERINS:  
**Flying Lessons will begin on Thursday at nine o'clock on the side lawn of the school. Broomsticks will be provided, and your instructor will be Secunda Milviron.  
Slytherins should also note that they are having this class with the Gryffindors.

Tom felt his heart sink.


End file.
